I flung my body
Like bread to the ducks
Stale biscuit sweet
Hard.
Cruelly misbaked
to the wrong Baker.
Pecked at my dolly sized pieces -
‘Keep still’
Pretend not to feel the pain.
Repeat: ‘I am still bread’ ‘I am not dead’
But deep inside
I felt the snaps
of beaks,
the disallusion of
winged hopes
flying me to new promised lands.
As I float
I tremor at
What lies beneath
the depth of the muddy pond water.
I want plastic surgery dough reversal
To re-roll my life with a rolling pin.
But this time
make sure I’m extra long-life,
sliced in equal measure.
That I go to a family who love me like Hovis
Dont leave me in the breadbin
to fester blue-green.
No cruel intentions.
Loyal man will pack me
in his
lunchbox
Everyday
No wrapping me around his kebab meat
caressing me
wolfing me down drunk
next morning
puke me up
deny he ever ate me to his
WIFE.
Next yield
I will be wholegrain,
the healthiest golden,
colour.
Not this cracking poppadom.
Crusts of pain
Mouldy shame.
Even the seagulls won’t eat me.
